


Book One: The Vagabond

by HorizonTheTransient



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, The Gods Are Bastards - D. D. Webb
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Isekai, Portal Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26929750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HorizonTheTransient/pseuds/HorizonTheTransient
Summary: Seventeen year old boy Teller Corcoran has been spirited away from his suburban home in New Jersey to a land of elves, wizards, and high fantasy. His greatest ambition in this brave new world?To leave it all behind and go back home.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

"Ugh," Gravestone Weaver muttered as the Rail caravan pulled into the station. "Remind me again _why_ I'm doing this?"

Weaver was a tall man with light skin and dark hair, a proud nose, and a goatee. His appearance was carefully calculated to be as repellant and off-putting as possible without being attention-grabbing about it, with greasy hair and an ill-fitting black overcoat.

"Because your boss said so," Teller Corcoran said, stepping aboard as the door opened. The inside of the cabin was empty of people, with only bare wooden benches. "...Wow, Prin was _not_ kidding about how awful these were to ride."

Teller, meanwhile, was an albino, with eyes red as blood and skin white as bone. He was of average height and sturdy build, and his callused hands adjusted the wide-brimmed hat sitting atop his white hair.

"I'm _always_ right," Principia Locke said, pushing past Weaver to climb aboard, and reaching into a bag of holding on her belt. "That's why I brought some cushioning for us, and some seatbelts."

Prin, the last of the trio, was a pale, waifish woman with inky black hair and elongated, pointy ears. She was an elf- according to her, a _wood_ elf, as one could tell by her ears pointing upward rather than outward. Teller wasn't entirely certain if this was true, and resolved to ask someone a bit more friendly than Weaver when the chance presented itself.

"Is that gonna interfere with the train's magic?" Teller asked. "...Or is the train just mundane technology that happens to look weird?"

"It's magic," Weaver said, finally stepping onboard. "The hell kind of rock _you_ been living under?"

"As the great Headmistress Arachne Tellwyrn explained to you when you were busy whining and bitching about being made to do _work,"_ Teller began, helping Prin affix the seats and seatbelts to the wooden benches. "I'm from another world, and ended up here through means I am completely unaware of. _You_ are taking me to Tiraas so we can bother Vesk, the God of Bards, Story, and Song, and _he_ is supposed to know how to get me home."

"And what's _she_ doing here?" Weaver asked, pointing at Prin as she started on the third seat. "Arachne fucking hates her, and doesn't let her anywhere _near_ her stuff."

"I'm bored," Prin said with a shrug.

"She kinda invited herself along," Teller added. "Arachne's not coming with us, and doesn't work for the government, so there's not _that_ much she can do about Prin using public transportation." He sat down, strapping himself in, as the train began to move. "...Of course, I'm very new here, so feel free to correct me."

"Arachne Tellwyrn is a three thousand year old archmage who was breathtakingly potent when she first arrived on the scene," Weaver said. "Teleporting someone off of a moving caravan without personally being there is _well_ within her capabilities. And if she likes the person enough, she might even let them live through it."

There was silence among the three of them- and nobody else on the train, seeing as Last Rock was a tiny frontier town that saw little traffic. The train began to move, slowly leaving the tallgrass of the prairie behind.

"Well, this is uncomfortably familiar," Teller said.

"What is?" Prin asked.

"Being wholly at the mercy of someone so insanely powerful that there's no recourse from pretty much anyone if they killed me." He sighed. "God, I want to go home."

"You _just said_ it was familiar," Weaver said.

"I oversimplified for rhetorical effect," Teller said. "Admittedly, back home, I managed to get hands on a lot of power myself, putting me at the top of the heap. Which, ah, may help to explain _why_ I am so eager to get back."

"Well, at first I was thinking you might be missing your friends and family and loved ones, but I'm glad you cleared up exactly what kind of person you are."

"I assumed that much was obv- actually, no, you're not worth my time."

* * *

"Y'know, that is not, altogether, the _worst_ experience I've ever had," Teller said, climbing off the train and rolling his shoulders, wincing. "Sure, it's competing with the time, two weeks ago, a sea monster ripped off both my arms, but hey, this isn't _as bad_ as that."

The station in Tiraas, the Imperial Capital, was expansive and expensive, built large enough to house the rail junctions that ran through the capital from all over the empire, and almost entirely from steel and glass, letting in plenty of natural light. The crowds within the station, befitting an empire that covered a continent, were diverse and colorful; the most common people in the crowd were humans with black hair, sharp features, and dark olive skin, but there were all sorts from across the spectrum of humanity, and a few from beyond; an elf in buckskins was selling tea from a stand, right next to a dwarf in a stained white apron selling sausage rolls. Next to them stood one of their customers, a weird-looking cat-eared hobbit-thing chowing down on a sausage roll.

"Really," Weaver said sourly. "A sea monster ripped off your arms."

"I got better," Teller said with a shrug.

"Arright, enough byplay, you two," Prin said, pushing past the both of them with a spring in her step that seemed calculated to annoy the both of them. "C'mon, time's a wastin'. Let's go bother a god."

"You know where the Temple of Vesk is, then?" Teller asked, before wincing at the popping sound his shoulder made.

"Of course I do," Prin said. "Follow me, children."

"I'm thirty seven," Weaver said.

"Did a witch curse you so you have to complain every five seconds or your heart will explode?" Teller asked. "Actually, more important question, is that a thing witches can do?"

"A powerful one with a mean streak, yes," Prin said, leading the trio through the crowded train station to the exit. "Any stops we need to make on the way?"

"Nah, Weaver's guitar should work just fine for summoning Vesk," Teller said.

"What? Fuck you, you're not touching my guitar," Weaver said, clutching the case to himself protectively.

"...In that case, anywhere I can pick up a cheap guitar."

* * *

"Alright, here we are," Prin said. "Well, at the temple. Dunno if you need to be somewhere specific to summon Vesk, I don't actually know how that works."

"I just have to play a song he's never heard before," Teller said quietly, holding his cheap guitar by the end of the neck. The entrance hall of the temple was cavernous, with an arched ceiling and an echo that could probably be heard by God.

At least, so he hoped.

"At least, that's what Arachne said..." he continued. "I don't know much more than that, though. I wonder, if I..." He lifted up the guitar, forming a chord on the neck and preparing to strum it.

"That won't be necessary," a man who hadn't been there a second ago said. "Mister Corcoran. I'm Vesk. We have a _lot_ to talk about." The God of Bards looked more or less exactly how Teller expected, complete with the big, stupid hat. "Just... _please_ don't play that here."

"So you know I'm not from here, and want to know how to get home, right?" Teller asked, as he lowered the guitar.

"I know a _lot_ of things," Vesk said, nodding. "But also, yes, I know those particular things. And I can tell you how to get home! Just... not for free."

Teller raised the guitar again, wordlessly threatening to strum it.

"A quest," Vesk clarified. "Go on a quest, play out a nice little story for me... and I'll let you go home at the end. Simple as that. Sound good?"

"The hell _kind_ of quest?" Teller asked.

"The sort that'll get you _very_ familiar with the world you now inhabit," Vesk said, reaching into a pocket in his poofy pantaloons and pulling out a small silver pendant on a steel chain, with four little gems in it. "Your goal, should you choose to accept it, is to learn at least one spell from all four schools of magic. I'll be watching- should you learn enough of one school in particular, its associated gem in this pendant will start glowing."

"...Four schools of magic?" Teller asked, as Vesk handed him the pendant. "What, uh... what would those be?"

"Sounds like you've got a nice starting point," Vesk said, grinning. "Good luck!" And then, without fanfare, he was simply... gone.

Teller stood there, silent, the pendant in his hand, the silence deafening.

He turned his eyes slowly upward, to the high, vaulted ceiling of the temple's antechamber, closing his fist around the pendant as he considered Vesk's words.

**"Fuck!"**


	2. Chapter 2

"The easiest school of magic to learn is probably going to be Arcane," Prin explained. "Seeing as how arcane enchantment is among the driving forces behind the ongoing industrial revolution, and we've put a lot of money into teaching as many good-enough wizards and enchanters as we possibly can."

"Thank heaven for small mercies," Teller muttered. "But let me guess, learning the other three is gonna be a pain in the ass?"

"Fae magic is about relationships and is infamously impossible to rush," Prin said. "Holy magic, meanwhile, usually requires the blessing of a  _ god _ to access, which means joining the priesthood. And Infernal magic will give you cancer if you fuck up, or maybe make you explode if you're unlucky."

"I'm so glad that despite being in a completely different world with completely different rules, it still holds true that God is cruel and hates everyone, but especially me."

"Aw, poor baby," Weaver said, rolling his eyes.

"Fuck off, Damian." Teller groaned in frustration. "Well! On the bright side, I've made a personal acquaintance with Arachne Tellwyrn, headmistress of a  _ university. _ If anyone knows how to teach a rank beginner how to use magic, she does."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure the ancient elven archmage and administrator has better things to do than personally tutor you in magic just so you can go back to winning pissing matches," Weaver said.

"Well, maybe not  _ herself, _ but she's proven  _ plenty _ willing to waste  _ other people's _ time on me," Teller said with a grin. "Alright, well, back to Last Rock, I guess, unless anyone has a better idea?"

"I know some wizardry myself," Prin said. "Not a  _ master _ or anything, but enough that I can teach you how to make blue sparks. If we stay in the city for a day or so, send Grumpyguts back ahead of us, that gives Arachne time to peruse her library, and call in a few favors, and have that ready by the time we get back ourselves."

"Hrm," Teller murmured. "...Alright, help me decide here: do the words 'indoor plumbing' mean anything to you, and does Last Rock have any?"

"Tiraas and the University have toilets, but the town of Last Rock itself? Nope. Just outhouses."

"Well, Mr. Weaver, it's been nice meeting you, but this is where the road parts, good luck have fun take care go away." 

* * *

"Alright," Teller said, stepping out of the bathroom of the hotel room Prin had so graciously paid for. "So. Arcane magic. Uh... question. What makes it so uniquely well-suited to industry and mass-production?"

Prin closed her magazine and set it aside. "Divine blessings don't last very long unless you're  _ really _ good at it, to the point of being a Hand of Salyrene."

"A fucking what?"

"Salyrene is the Goddess of Magic, and one of the few gods of the Pantheon who calls Hands," Prin explained. "Sometimes they're called Paladins, too. A god who  _ does _ call Hands only has one or two of them at any one time, and those Hands are typically the most powerful users of Divine magic short of gold dragons and the Archpope."

Teller pinched the bridge of his nose.

_ "Anyways," _ Prin continued. "Divine blessings don't last very long. Fae magic is very personalized and variable, and doesn't work for mass production. And, again, Infernal magic gives you cancer. Arcane, though, is reasonably safe, long-lasting, and reproducible. And  _ casting _ Arcane magic, rather than just enchanting with pre-made inks and dusts, is  _ still _ a fairly mechanistic process. So." She clapped her hands once, then rubbed them together. "You any good at math?"

"...We're about to find out, I guess." 

* * *

"Urgh," Teller muttered, frowning at the magazine. It purported to be a beginner's guide to wizardry, and was full of instructions for various useful exercises for things like expanding your aura's capacity for mana, or refining your control  _ over _ said mana. But the first thing he had to do, which he was somewhat stuck on, was learning how to even  _ sense _ mana.

Oh, sure, he felt it when Prin sent a little daub of her own mana through his hand, but apparently, elves naturally had much richer auras than humans did, and Teller might as well as had a newborn's aura.

"Catch," Prin said, tossing him a rolled-up tube of paper.

Teller caught it instinctively, blinking. "Hm?"

"You felt me channel mana through you, yeah?" Prin said. "Try and replicate that feeling, into the tube."

"I don't know  _ how," _ Teller said.

Prin sighed, and moved to sit next to him, taking his wrist. "Fine, we're doing it again. A person is magically conductive- you're holding the tube, but  _ I'm _ holding  _ you. _ Pay attention to the feeling."

A tiny,  _ tiny _ wisp of Prin's mana flowed through Teller's arm, and into the tube, whose end began to glow bright blue.

"You feel it?" Prin asked.

"It feels like something someone would write poetry about," Teller said.

"They do," Prin admitted. "But anyway, you're  _ not _ supplying the power, here,  _ just _ the  _ barest _ whisper of mana to open the gate between the power crystal inside, and the lighting charm. It  _ doesn't _ take a lot." She let go of him, and the light went out. "Now. Try it yourself."

Teller closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to feel out what internal lever he was supposed to pull to turn the light back on. His eyes opened. Muscles began to twitch as he experimented. The light remained completely out.

Finally, though, he stumbled upon the right answer, and the light turned on. He grinned a little, turning the light off and on, and off and on, over and over to try and build that arcane muscle memory.

"Took you long enough," Prin said, grinning along with him.

"I think I got it," Teller said, starting to feel the mana within the tube and its power crystal. "I wonder..." He lifted his other hand, and furrowed his brow as he tried to  _ pull _ the mana out of the crystal, through his body and into his free hand, and finally... "Well, would you look at that. Blue sparks."

"See if you can make 'em last longer," Prin said.

Teller nodded, glancing at the magazine and flipping a few pages. "Alright... Okay, and..." The sparks stopped, replaced by an inky oozing of blue glow from his fingertips, coalescing into a single floating ball of light, which he found he could move around as easily as moving his hand. "Hell yeah." He reached into the neck of his shirt- mildly disappointed but not  _ surprised _ when the spell broke and the glowball disappeared- and pulled out Vesk's silver pendant, where the sapphire was glowing a nice, steady blue. "Well, Principia, I must thank you mightily. If there's anything I can do to thank you..."

"There  _ is _ one thing," Prin said.

"Yeah, I figured," Teller said.

"And what's  _ that _ supposed to mean?" Prin asked.

"You want something. I can  _ smell _ it," Teller said. "And you know what?  _ Fine. _ I've accepted that there's gonna be a price for the help I get. Just quit beating around the bush and spit it out already."

"...Well, I was  _ going _ to ask you to put in a good word for me with the Hand of Avei, if this didn't work out fast enough and you ended up attending Tellwyrn's university," Prin said. "But that works better if you actually  _ like _ me."

"Oh, I like you plenty," Teller said. "You've been very helpful. Thing is, I've been spent most of my career being shot at on a daily basis. I know  _ I _ can forgive a spot of chicanery here and there, because I'm a big boy, but I'm also pretty aware that I've got high tolerances. So I'm not really sure I  _ can _ put in a good word for you, in good faith."

"That's fair," Prin said, moving to lean back against the headboard of the bed. "So. What  _ was _ your career, then? I remember you said earlier, you were near the top of the heap? The top of  _ what _ heap?"

"I was a superhero," Teller said. "Is that a concept y'all have here?"

"I know what a  _ hero _ is, but to me, that's a paladin, or a wizard, or some other high-class adventurer," Prin said. "What's a superhero to  _ you?" _

"Where I'm from, magic isn't a skill you can just  _ learn," _ Teller said. "Instead, some unlucky few experience the worst, most traumatic days of their life, and they break in exactly the right way, and a bit of magic flows into them. A few set effects, mostly immutable. Parahuman was what we called anyone who that happened to. And a superhero, in modern parlance... was someone who used that power for  _ law enforcement. _ Not exactly heroic, I gotta admit, being something of an experienced expert on law enforcement."

"I see," Prin said coolly.

"And, y'know. The government would take  _ anyone _ with powers," Teller said. "Even kids.  _ Especially _ kids. Had a special program for under-eighteens with powers, made it all glamorous and cool..." He grimaced. "Just before I turned sixteen, I burned my bridges and left like a thief in the night. Been out of the game about a year and a half, now. I'll step up to protect people when the situation calls for it, but... breaking some poor kid's elbows for pickpocketing just, never sat right with me."

"Well, that's encouraging to hear," Prin said.  _ "I'm _ a member of the Thieves' Guild."

"...What does the Thieves' Guild  _ do?" _

"Broadly speaking? Humbling the mighty," Prin said. "We're a cult, the faith of Eserion, the God of Defiance. And the Thieves' Guild is pretty diverse, and contains some of the best and worst people you'll ever meet, so not  _ all _ of them are in it to humble the mighty and remind them that they're not untouchable. But... I like to think I am."

"...I can respect that, yeah," Teller said, nodding. "Urgh. It is  _ late. _ I think I'm gonna hit the hay."

"Night," Prin said, as he got up off the bed.

"...Prin?"

"Yes?"

"There's only one bed."

"Oh, right. Yeah, you're sleeping on the floor." 

* * *

Teller yawned and stretched as he woke up. He groaned a little, rubbing at his sore back. If he'd realized just how awful this bed was, he wouldn't have bothered kicking Prin out of it.


	3. Chapter 3

"I gotta say," Teller said, walking down the streets of Tiraas. "Printing presses were a bit of a surprise, but I  _ really _ wasn't expecting horseless carriages."

"Don't have 'em where you're from?" Prin asked.

"Oh, we've got  _ plenty _ of 'em," Teller said. "Had 'em for more'n a hundred years. It's just that, where  _ I'm _ from, stories about magic and elves are set in a time where everyone and their mother is a farmer, and the height of technology is an iron sword that doesn't suck."

"Used to be like that here, yeah, but that was a  _ very _ long time ago," Prin said. "A hundred or so years ago, the Hand of Salyrene, Magnan the Enchanter, made a few key inventions. First was enchanter's ink, which let  _ anyone _ enchant objects without having to themselves be a wizard. And second was a precursor to the modern assembly line." She grimaced. "Of courses,  _ third _ was a weapon called the Enchanter's Bane, which he used to kill a god, wipe an entire country off the map, drive a people most of the way to extinction, and spark a civil war that destroyed the Empire in the Enchanter Wars, so maybe don't go talking up how great Magnan was where anyone can hear you."

"Duly noted," Teller said. "But, wait, the Empire was  _ destroyed _ a hundred years ago?"

"Pretty much," Prin said. "Arachne herself killed Magnan  _ and _ the sitting Emperor, but  _ then _ she helped put a  _ new _ Emperor on the throne. An adventurer and nobleman, by the name of Sarsamon Tirasian. The Empire was put back together afterwards, and today, Sarsa's grandson, Sharidan, sits on the Silver Throne."

"Huh," Teller said. "So, question about the Enchanter's Bane. Are there any... lasting, long-term effects, beyond depopulating a landscape?"

"It poisoned the land  _ and _ the people," Prin said. "Banefall, it's called. Kids of people exposed to the Bane, they'd never live past twenty years old. Their organs would just... shut down. And Athan'Khar itself is full of the twisted, restless,  _ angry _ souls of dead orcs. A human crossing the border into Athan'Khar is pretty much guaranteed to die a messy death."

"...Well, the ghosts bit is kinda new," Teller said. "But otherwise, that sounds pretty familiar to me. Word to the wise, you want absolutely  _ nothing _ to do with a metal called uranium, or a mineral called pitchblende."

"Sounds like you've got some history of your own to tell," Prin said.

"Well... Alright. So, sixty-odd years ago, in the tail end of a war between two imperial powers- in the broader context of the whole  _ world _ being at war for the second time in thirty years- the continental isolationists developed a bomb that worked by new principles. I won't tell you  _ how _ it worked, just that it involved lots of uranium. Well, the continental isolationists were on the tail-end of a long and bloody naval invasion against the islander expansionists, and had a few objectives. One, most obviously, was to finally force the islanders to surrender. But  _ two, _ more  _ importantly, _ they felt the need to show off how big their uranium cocks were to the whole entire world. And so they dropped two such bombs on a pair of cities that had been mostly untouched by prior bombing runs. Civilian cities."

Teller swallowed, pausing.

"That was the last time they were used in warfare," Teller continued. "Them that dropped the bombs, though... saw no real comeuppance. An arms race emerged in the ensuing decades, and the technology made its way all over... but that was the last time anyone dared use them in war. They poisoned the land and its people. They burned shadows into the walls where people stood in those fateful moments. And somehow, the meatheads in charge managed to understand that if they were to use them... now the enemy had them, too, and would respond in kind. And  _ that _ would be the end of all life on earth."

"Fun," Prin said.

"Very. I'm descended, by half, from the people that bomb was dropped on. It's... not a good memory." He grimaced. "And then I was born in the nation that dropped it, and worked for their government. Anyhow, let's change the subject: what's the legality of doing magic in public, and more specifically will I get arrested for practicing my glow-ball spell while we wait for the train?"

"Oh, pft, you'll be fine," Prin said. "Worst comes to worst, someone  _ might _ ask you to knock it off, but you don't even have to listen to 'em."

"Great, because I have nothing better to do to stave off boredom while we wait for the train."

"You could talk to me."

"Nothing better to do."

Prin swatted him. 

* * *

"God, I hate travel," Teller said, stepping off the train onto the platform at Last Rock.

"It's not  _ normally _ this bad," Prin said, re-locating her shoulder.

"Hours upon hours of my life, wasted just sitting around with nothing to do..." Teller continued. "Can't even read on the damn trains here, with the godawful zigzagging and the jostling everywhere... Fuck me running, I wish I could just teleport, skip all this tedium."

With the barest flash of blue and a very perceptible surge of arcane energies, Teller and Prin found themselves inside Arachne's office.

"...Could you have done that at any time?" Teller asked, barely above a whisper.

"Of course not," Arachne said, looking affronted. "I can only do that when I feel like it. Now, Weaver tells me you've been given a quest to learn magic?"

"At least one spell from all four schools," Teller said, nodding, before pulling out the pendant Vesk gave him, with its gently-glowing sapphire and unlit citrine, emerald, and topaz. "Prin already taught me an arcane spell, so that leaves... fuck, I'm not used to forgetting things this easily..."

"Divine, infernal, and fae," Arachne listed off. "Well. As it so happens, you're in luck, and I know masters of the infernal and the fae who already make a calling of teaching their use to others. As for divine, I know of an old ritual that'll serve as a shortcut to priesthood. But first..." Arachne turned to look at Prin, who was studiously ignoring her, looking around the office at all the very interesting clutter, before returning her gaze to the young albino adventurer. "Show me the spell you were taught."

Teller raised his other hand, then twitched his fingers in a practiced maneuver. The familiar glow ball formed in his hand, and rose up to shoulder height, before tracing a languid, off-kilter orbit around him.

"Nothing fancy, but it's enough," Teller said.

"Your form is insultingly sloppy," Arachne said bluntly. "What, did you learn that spell out of a magazine?"

"...Yes. Yes I did."

"Well, you'll have to do better than that for your next spell," Arachne said. "Your next destination is the Black Isle of Razzavinax to learn Infernomancy, and sloppy form  _ there _ will get you killed."

"You're a real trial-by-fire type, huh?" Teller asked.

"Yes," Arachne said, nodding. "Yes I am. Before I send you off, though, I need a word with you in private."

Teller turned and managed to watch Prin disappear, in another burst of arcane energy.

"I know you don't like her, but-" Teller began.

"She'll live," Arachne said, waving dismissively. "Do you know  _ why _ I don't like her, Mister Corcoran?"

"Sorry, haven't had time to catch up on elf drama in the twenty four hours I've been here," Teller said flatly. "She mentioned she was in the Thieves' Guild- what, did she make off with your mother's silverware?"

"Hilarious," Arachne said flatly. "But, you're on the right track. Tell me: what kind of person do you think makes a sacrament of fraud and theft, and  _ intentionally _ ruining someone's day- potentially their  _ life?" _

"To hear her tell it, someone who believes in humbling the mighty," Teller said. "But... I take it you don't buy her theology as genuine?"

"Yes, I tend to assume that the con artist will lie to people and present the most favorable portrait of herself possible," Arachne said. "She's done horrible things to people, for fun and profit. Never forget that. And never forget that with  _ you, _ she has an ulterior motive."

"What  _ possible _ ulterior motive could she have for helping me?" Teller asked. "I'm going to be gone before long- not even a week, at this rate."

"And if you're  _ not?" _ Arachne asked quietly. "I've been on a quest like yours before, but... self-assigned, and longer. I woke up alone and without memory... and with no idea how to get back home. For three thousand years, I petitioned the gods, gaining audience with each of them in turn. And a hundred years ago... I finished. I asked the one god I hadn't spoken to where I was from, and she didn't know.  _ None _ of them knew. There was no going home. I had to give up, and make a new one." Silence reigned for a second. "I'm helping because I hope I'm wrong. That you're luckier than me. But you might not be, and you need to be prepared for that too. Because Principia certainly is."

"...Fine, then," Teller said. "Then what  _ is _ her plan?"

"I don't know this for  _ certain, _ but I can't think of any better reason," Arachne said. "Principia had a child, seventeen years ago. Gave them up for adoption... and now that child is someone powerful. Someone who will be attending my university next year. And if Principia is right, so will  _ you." _

"So, what, Prin wants me to facilitate a reunion with the kid she gave up at birth?" Teller asked. "That's... kind of scummy that she's doing it all roundabout-like, but still understandable for someone who's been poisoned with their own cleverness."

"...We can talk about it later, if this doesn't work out and you  _ do _ decide to enroll," Arachne said, shaking her head. "For now... well, it's best not to keep a dragon waiting."

"Did you just say a  _ dragon?" _

"Indeed. Let's go get acquainted with Razzavinax The Red, shall we?"


	4. Chapter 4

The Black Isle was smoothly weather-worn where the storms lashed it, and sharp and craggy where it was sheltered from the storms. It was the most beautifully miserable place Teller had ever laid eyes upon, and he was beginning to regret getting out of bed this morning.

"He should be- ah, there he is."

Arachne pointed, and Teller watched as shadows rapidly coalesced into the shape of a man, before gaining color. He was tall and handsome, wearing a poofy shirt with a deeply plunging neckline and tight black leather pants, and eyes and hair like polished rubies.

Clearly, not a normal human. Potentially, Razzavinax the Red.

"I see you've brought me your latest project," the red-eyed man said. "Welcome, young man. I am Razzavinax the Red, and I will be your teacher. Arachne tells me you wish to learn the absolute barest minimum that is still, technically, an Infernal spell?"

"As far as Vesk is concerned, yes," Teller said, nodding. "My name is Teller Corcoran. Thank you for your help."

"Mmn. A Vesk quest. Arachne neglected to mention this," Razzavinax said, turning a sour eye on the elf.

"Well, look at the big mean dragon who's scared of a little  _ story," _ Arachne said, folding her arms. "Besides. As far as I can tell, this is a pretty  _ peaceful _ fairy tale, as far as they go. Worst thing that'll happen is you have to explain what a dragon is."

"I know what a dragon is, thank you," Teller said. "A shapeshifter of godlike sorcerous might, with isolationist tendencies and a hoarding problem."

"I would hesitate to call it a  _ problem, _ but yes, you do seem to get the gist of it," Razzavinax said, nodding.

"Just remember, he's from another world," Arachne said. "He doesn't know anything about our history, magic, or gods. You'll have to teach him, from scratch."

"Yes, yes, I know how to handle students of diverse backgrounds too, you know," Razzavinax said, waving his hand dismissively. "Now come along, young one. I might live forever, but that doesn't mean I have all day."

"Be careful," Arachne said.

"Relax,  _ Mom," _ Teller said, before Arachne swatted him about the head. "Thanks again for the help."

"Don't mention it," Arachne said. "I don't want people getting  _ ideas." _

* * *

"More than eight thousand years ago, the world was very different," Razzavinax lectured. "The current Pantheon did not exist. It was an age of more mighty deities, of the Elder Gods. They were terrible and monstrous, all of them, and so the Pantheon rose up in the Elder War, eight thousand years ago, and slew all but two of them.

"The two who remain are Naiya, the Elder Goddess of Nature, wellspring of Fae Magic... and Scyllith, the Elder Goddess of Light, Beauty, and  _ Cruelty, _ wellspring of  _ Infernal _ Magic." Razzavinax stopped in his pacing, and took a few steps towards where his pupil was sitting, absorbing all of this. "And so you can hopefully see  _ why, _ now, the Infernal is so dangerous. It is a useful,  _ powerful _ tool... and it is a  _ poison _ that will kill you horribly if you make one false step. It is tantalizing for the right sort of person, tempting them to use it, promising that so long as they never make a mistake, it won't hurt them.

"But they always do. Scyllith  _ always _ takes her price, in the end."

"Why was Scyllith allowed to live, then?" Teller asked.

"I'm afraid I'm only five thousand years old," Razzavinax said with a shrug.  _ "Why _ the Pantheon did not kill her, I cannot say- I wasn't there, and nobody who  _ was _ is talking. Perhaps Arachne knows- she's quite famously spoken to all of the gods. But, on the balance, I would advise against prying. She is  _ also _ famous for the limits of her patience."

"Fair. So." Teller clapped his hands once, then rubbed them together. "Basic infernomancy for someone who doesn't want to touch the stuff  _ or _ die of cancer. Where do we start with dipping my toe into this water?"

"With some reading," Razzavinax said, leading Teller to realize they were in a small, barren cell under the ground, with the surfaces cut exactly smooth enough to provide no visual interest while also being just  _ barely _ comfortable enough to avoid him thinking about stalagmites stabbing him in the shin. He produced, from shadows, a thick, leather-bound tome, and handed it to Teller. "I'm afraid I have other demands on my time; you will have to teach  _ yourself, _ for the next little while. You will do  _ no _ magic of  _ any kind _ until I return, do I make myself clear?"

"Will you permit an arcane light spell?" Teller asked, as he turned the book over in his hands, trying to figure out which end was which.

Razzavinax conjured from shadows a small lantern that glowed a flickering blue, and set it on the floor. "No. Magic."

"...Alright then," Teller said, opening the book as Razzavinax left.

The book was quite verbose, and Teller couldn't quite follow all of it. Something something fifth school of magic called shadow magic, except it isn't a fifth school, it's  _ every _ school  _ except _ the main four, and also it can be used to make infernal magic less dangerous to wield.

It was, altogether, rather convoluted in the details, and within ten minutes Teller found himself wishing Razzavinax would simply skip to the part where he taught Teller how to conjure a wisp of hellfire and make pretty sparks with it.

He groaned. He was aware he was being given extraordinary opportunities, here, but he didn't  _ want _ these opportunities, he wanted to go  _ home _ and pet his cats and play video games with his girlfriend.

"Well well well, what do we have here?" a voice behind him said. He spun around to behold an elegant, striking woman, with hoofs and horns. "Teller Corcoran. My name is Elilial. I'm  _ deeply _ sorry for how Vesk gave you the run-around, and on behalf of the gods, I would like to apologize for him."

"...Just who the hell  _ are _ you?" Teller asked, hand creeping towards his holdout weapon. It probably wouldn't do much, but he was determined to go down swinging.

"Elilial," the demonic woman repeated. "The Goddess of Cunning, and the current Queen of Hell. I ejected Scyllith from her own domain, you see- I, too, didn't care for the Pantheon letting her live. And I know a thing or two about teaching mortals to wield the Infernal safely. So, let's cut a  _ deal, _ shall we?"

"I'd rather not waste a dragon's time, if it's all the same to you," Teller said.

"He'll get over it," Elilial said, waving her hand dismissively. "You, Mister Corcoran, I already know about. Your story is one I happen to be familiar with, and if there's one thing I know you're good for, it's killing people. As it so happens, I have someone I need dead: Tethloss the Summoner. He's stolen the secret craft of my faith, and is using it to make a nuisance of himself off in Thakar, raiding and pillaging." She raised her right hand, conjuring an image of Tethloss- a man in a deep brown cloak, reading from a black tome and summoning a demon through a pentagram, deep in the woods. "A danger to  _ everyone, _ not just an affront to  _ me. _ And to help you do it, I'll give you  _ this." _

With her left hand, she pulled out a small talisman, made of bronze, in the twisted shape of a wreath in two interlocking parts, suspended upon a fine silver chain.

"A travel talisman," Elilial said. "An infernal artifact, masterfully crafted to be safe in mortal hands. Envision your destination and give it a twist, and it'll shadow-jump you there. Much like a wizard's teleportation, but a great deal easier to achieve. Finish the job, and I'll directly impart the ability to do it  _ without _ the talisman. But if you  _ don't, _ and my own agents get him first-"

"I die?" Teller asked.

"No," Elilial said. "I take the talisman back and tell you I'm disappointed in you, and you're free to continue on with your pointless quest to... what time waster did Vesk give you, learn all four schools of magic?"

"Thereabouts. Only got Arcane down so far," Teller said, taking one hand off the book to conjure his ball of light.

"Hm. A neat trick, but it won't work."

"As far as the pendant Vesk gave me-"

"Oh, silly boy, I don't mean  _ that," _ Elilial said. "No, I mean your attempt to subtly call for Razzavinax's help by using magic when you aren't supposed to. It's quite clever! But I'm afraid that I am  _ especially _ good at deflecting unwanted attention. Razzavinax won't notice a thing- if he did, he'd be in here giving me a piece of his mind about interfering with one of his students. And  _ then _ you'd be stuck with a cautious, old worry-wart with a teacher, taking  _ months _ to learn what I could teach you in an instant."

Teller grimaced.

"All for the head of one  _ very _ bad man," Elilial said, the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly as the talisman swayed gently at the end of the chain. "So what will it be? Will you take my offer, and go home that much sooner? Or will you reject me out of hand, and let your memories degrade until you can't even remember why you wanted to go home in the first place?"

Teller chewed on it, his eyes tight, for a few long, silent seconds.

"Don't feel pressured to accept  _ now," _ Elilial added. "After all, you have all the time in the world."

Finally, he stood up, drawing the tiny little revolver he always kept on him with his left hand, and snatching the travel token from her with his right hand.

"Good bo-" Elilial began before he melted into a shadow and disappeared, and then reappeared a few moments later. "Oh? Given up already?"

"No. He's dead," Teller said, pointing at the image, which now showed a headless corpse on the forest floor, in front of a tree covered in chunky salsa. "I'm done. Pay up."

"...So he is," Elilial said, blinking. "Well, a deal's a deal." She dismissed the image, and placed a hand on Teller's head. "This might be disorienting. Try not to vomit on me."

"I make no such promise."


	5. Chapter 5

Razzavinax stared at Teller impassively. Teller stared back, not breaking eye contact.

"You made a deal with  _ Elilial," _ Razzavinax said blandly.

"She was very convincing, and her terms were generous," Teller said. "I quite like her now, I must say. Very helpful."

"Do not count on her  _ remaining _ that way," Razzavinax warned him. "You are young, unprepared, and desperate; that she gave you a favorable deal  _ now _ is merely to groom you for future dealings."

"I mean, I  _ did _ kill a man for her," Teller said. "She already got what she wanted. Besides, I'm gonna be gone soon enough, if I get my way. Which, thankfully, I have so far, but I am fully anticipating that things will go horribly wrong soon enough, and get me stuck here for a year or longer. Not much  _ point _ in making  _ me _ a long-term objective."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Razzavinax admitted. "As a child-"

"I own a house."

"-I will not blame you  _ too _ harshly for falling for her wiles. But see to it that this does not happen  _ again, _ boy. Demons are  _ dangerous. _ You will be better served to not touch the Infernal any more than you already have. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Teller said, nodding. "Well. I've learned enough Infernal magic to satisfy Vesk now." He pulled out his pendant, and the topaz was glowing orange. "I suppose, unless there's anything you need of me, that our business is concluded?"

"That depends entirely upon how much further you intend to delve,  _ anyways," _ Razzavinax said.

"Why would I delve any further?" Teller asked. "I ticked the box, and also now I can teleport. I'm done with infernomancy, I assure you."

"Then there is nothing more that I need teach you, aside from the obvious fact that warlocks are feared and distrusted, and those with positive contact with the Dark Lady even moreso," Razzavinax said. "Perhaps you'd best keep those traits to yourself."

"Damn," Teller said solemnly. "There goes all my conversation starters for all those tea parties I'm invited to."

"Brat."

"More than slightly," Teller said, nodding. "Well. Thank you for your help, Razzavinax. Very likely, I couldn't have done it without you."

"You're welcome," Razzavinax said. "If you  _ are _ stuck here... you are free to call upon me for help with matters infernal, if you find yourself drawn in over your head. I likely will not harbor much sympathy for your own mistakes, but the infernal has a habit of making itself  _ everyone's _ problem, through no fault of the bystander's own."

"That's very kind of you," Teller said. "Alright, I'll be out of your hair soon enough. Next stop... Last Rock." He swelled up in shadows, and disappeared.

Razzavinax waited a few long moments in silence. Then he sighed, and got up, walking back to his bedchambers.

"So  _ terribly _ sorry to keep you waiting, my love," Razzavinax said as he entered. "But I suppose you know just as well as I do what it's like to be all tied up."

Maiyenn, his consort, made an indignant noise through her gag at that pun.

"Now, where was I?"

* * *

Teller reappeared at the front entrance of Arachne's University- while he  _ could _ have arrived directly in her office, he'd met enough teleporters to understand the basic etiquette of such: always knock on the door first. Besides politeness, he was also in the mood for a walk; his daily routine had been quite disrupted, and he had to get his exercise in  _ somehow. _

Fortunately, when he made it to her office door and knocked, the door immediately swung open to admit him inside.

"Well, that was quick," Arachne said, dismissing the spell that had opened the door and not looking up from her paperwork. "How'd you manage  _ that?" _

Wordlessly, Teller reached under his collar and pulling out the travel talisman, pulling it off of his neck.

"...And that was enough?" Arachne muttered, frowning. "Huh."

"So, where to next?" Teller asked, putting it back. "Fae magic, right?"

"I know a few Grove Elders, who can teach you basic shamanism," Arachne said. "I tried to impress the need for speed on them, but they're elves who are thousands of years old and practice a magic that only truly grows with time. You might have a different notion of haste than they do."

"Fair enough," Teller said. "Where do they live?"

"The grove near Sarasio, in Mathenon Province," Arachne said.

"...I don't know where that is or what that looks like," Teller admitted. "Do you have a picture I can use for shadow-jumping purposes?"

"Shadow-jumping?" Arachne asked, affronted. "You want to  _ openly _ do infernal magic in front of a bunch of  _ shaman? _ Absolutely not, young man. You'll keep your infernomancy to yourself around them if you know what's good for you."

"But... that means..."

"You'll have to get there by Rail again," Arachne said, nodding.

"I-"

"If you're going to throw a tantrum, go throw it outside. I have work to do."

* * *

Teller arrived in Sarasio about an hour or so before dusk, beaten and bruised by the godawful rattletrap these people called trains, and thoroughly pissed off. He'd been through worse, though, and wasn't going to let a few scrapes and bruises slow him down.

Which was a good thing, too, because the civil engineer, may their soul rot in hell, had put the train platform a good solid walk away from the actual town of Sarasio, and further still from the actual grove, which seemed to be on the other side of town.

He walked with determination and purpose, and not long after entering Sarasio proper, a young boy in a white suit and a bolo tie with a big chunk of tigerseye in it fell into step alongside him. At his hips, on his belt, sat two leather holsters, holding two very recognizable guns.

"Evenin', sir. Name's Joe Jenkins," the boy said, in a familiar drawl. As a Texas boy, it made Teller nostalgic. "What brings you down to Sarasio in such a hurry, if I might ask?"

"Name's Teller Corcoran," he replied, matching the boy's drawl. He didn't  _ always _ talk like this, but he enjoyed a chance to relax and let it slip out. "Here from Last Rock, on business from Arachne Tellwyrn. Sent me to go bother some elves, names of Shiraki and Cheyenne?"

"Sheyann," Joe corrected him. "Grove elders, huh? Wonder what business Tellwyrn's got with 'em?"

"Eh. Y'know how elves are, once they get past a thousand," Teller said. "All I know is I'm s'pposed to talk to 'em, they'll do the rest. You know 'em?"

"We're acquainted."

"Mind givin' a fella some directions? My current plan of walk into the woods and stumble around until an elf asks me what the hell I think I'm doin' may be... less than diplomatic."

"Language," Joe scolded. "And yeah, I think I can help you out, some."

"Much obliged, stranger."

A companionable silence fell over the pair as they walked.

"So, don't suppose you recognize me?" Joe asked.

"Don't mean to deflate your ego none, fella," Teller said. "Ain't exactly from 'round these parts. I don't reckon you ain't never hearda Teller Corcoran before, neither."

"Overdoin' it a little, ain'tcha?"

"Au contraire. I had a  _ lotta _ fun sayin' that."

Joe chuckled. "Can't fault you there, I s'ppose."

"Anyhow. I'd thank you to not pry," Teller said. "Short version, I know my way around a scrap, and I ain't keen to talk about  _ why." _

"I getcha, yeah," Joe said quietly. "Same way, m'self."

Teller felt his chest tighten, and his resolve falter.

"...Well, might end up passin' through again sometime," Teller said. "Been nice talkin' to ya, Joe. If I feel like havin' another chat with you, where should I go lookin'?"

"Place in town called the Shady Lady," Joe said. "I play poker there at night, against folks like you, just passin' through. Pretty good at it, m'self."

"I reckon so," Teller said, nodding. "Unless you mean to tell me that showpiece of yours fell off the back of a truck."

"...Why would it be in the back of a truck?"

Teller internally cursed this world for being  _ just _ close enough to his own that he didn't filter his language for anachronisms.

"...I'll tell you when you're older," Teller said. "How old  _ are _ you, anyhow?"

"Bout to turn fourteen in about two months," Joe said.

"Think I'll come visit on yer birthday, then, if I'm still on the continent by then," Teller said. "If I  _ ain't... _ Well. I'll see what I can do."

"Don't go puttin' yerself out over  _ me," _ Joe said.

"Eh. What can I say," Teller said with a shrug. "Can't help but feel a kinship with another young gunslinger like yerself."

"Y'mean  _ wand _ slinger?"

"I," Teller said primly, "will tell you when you're older."

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. They were in the forest, now, wandering around until an elf showed up and asked what the hell they thought they were doing. The difference from Teller's original plan, of course, was that he was now wandering around with a well-respected local.

"I gotta ask," Teller said, breaking the silence. "And, I suppose, admit ignorance. Is Elder a technical term with elves, and if so, what's the definition?"

"We're not big on formalities," a voice from the forest, off to their left, said. "But, yes. An Elder is anyone who's lived to a thousand years of age."

Teller whipped around, and saw a young woman with honey-blonde hair and pointy ears approaching. She wore a leather vest over a shirt tie-dyed in green and brown for a camoflage pattern, and simple leather trousers, all of it richly embroidered. In her hand was a staff of gnarled, ancient wood, topped by a gently shimmering crystal the size of Teller's fist.

"Don't suppose you'd be Elder Sheyann, would you?" Teller asked. She certainly  _ looked _ like a powerful magician, and if she  _ wasn't... _ well, it was only a  _ little _ faux pas.

"I am indeed," the elf said. "And you would be Teller Corcoran. Welcome. Arachne told me you'd be coming."

"I'm terribly sorry to impose," Teller said. "But, well... I'm afraid I wasn't able to find a tutor of fae magic on my own, and Arachne is the only helpful point of contact I have."

"It's no imposition at all," Sheyann said, shaking her hand. "Joseph, would you like to come along?"

"I'd love to, ma'am, but I'm afraid I've got prior engagements soon enough," Joe said, his hat in his hand. "Only enough time to help Teller here to his destination."

"Fair enough," Sheyann said. "Will you need help finding your way back?"

"No need, ma'am. G'bye. Hope to see you again sometime, Teller."

"Likewise, Joe."

The group split, Joe heading back to Sarasio, and Teller following Sheyann through the forest. It was a beautiful forest, well-loved and immaculately maintained by masterful hands. He'd never seen a forest quite like this back home, but with the fact it was inhabited by ancient elfish shaman, he supposed that might've been why.

Soon, though, Sheyann led him into a small clearing, where another elf- this one a man- sat by a campfire. He didn't rise to greet the two of them, instead focusing on the pot he had boiling over the fire.

"Would you be Elder Shiraki?" Teller asked.

"Lo, Sheyann, marketh this day well, for thine human hath revealed a grave truth," the elfish man intoned. "Truly, Arachne  _ doth  _ know mine name truly."

"...You're fucking with me, aren't you," Teller said flatly.

"Very much so, yes," Sheyann said, sitting down on a log next to the campfire. A third log, totally empty, suggested itself to Teller, who seated himself. "He does that to everyone, though, don't worry. Now. You've come to learn the bare minimum of the fae craft, as fast as possible?"

"Yes," Teller said, nodding. "But... Arachne mentioned that you may have a different idea of what 'as fast as possible' means than I do."

"Arachne Tellwyrn is an impatient, spoiled brat," Shiraki said, stirring his cauldron. "As elves, we experience time  _ differently _ than humans. That does not mean we do not experience it  _ at all. _ We understand haste perfectly well, young man."

"And for this, we've decided to prepare a vision quest," Sheyann said. "You'll face hard truths about yourself. It may not work. And you will go it alone.  _ But, _ if speed truly is of the essence..."

"I've never backed down from something just because it was hard," Teller said, as Shiraki took the pot off of the fire, and dipped a wooden mug into the liquid. "Hit me."

"Here," Shiraki said, handing him the mug. "Drink quickly."

Teller did, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he wasn't in the forest anymore.


End file.
